When I was an innocent nine years old or so, my mom let me go out into the neighborhood, knocking door-to-door, asking for sponsors for the Swim-O-Rama coming up. This was the only fundraiser our summer swim team did, and now that I’m an adult and look back on some things, our family really relied on it. There I was, a naïve and bulletproof youngster rapping on neighbors’ doors, ready to give my speech, requesting five cents to two dollars per lap. I was irresistible to the older generation with all of my adorableness pouring out. Mom and I moved down to my grandma’s neighborhood that was ripe with grandmas and grandpas for the picking. Mom stayed with my grandma, and I set out again raking in the sponsors. I was about three houses down, when I opened a 3-foot-high chain link gate and marched myself right up to the front door. The house had a screen door, so I knocked on the side of the house and waited. No one came. I opened the screen door and knocked on the front door, hoping the resident could hear the knock better. As I stood there, holding the screen door open, a tiny furbeast came launching out of
the small doggie door that I hadn’t noticed before. The little monster barked, jumped, and bit at me. I clambered down the front porch, frantically waving my sponsor papers at the dog. My yelling and batting at him failed to slow him down. He connected and bit me so hard high on the back of my legs that my knees buckled. I scream-cried my way through the gate and all the way back to my grandma’s house. No stitches required, but you better believe there was blood and bruising for the next couple weeks. Bless my mom’s heart, she stomped her way down to the house and cracked on the door. Turns out that little hell creature, or as her owner calls her ‘Princess’, had her shots that day and was “a little cranky”. Being just a kid, I didn’t understand how on earth a dog owner could say that their dog could be 'cranky', or any other emotions other than happy (the tail wags) or mean (it’s lurching and biting at you). Fast forward 30 years, and my family is traveling the U.S. with our feisty barn cat, Moxie, and our 200lb English mastiff, Sage. We brought our sweet Sage
home while I was pregnant with our middle son, Barrett, almost 10 years ago. She has been a part of this family through move after move, baby after baby, and pet after pet. When Jason and I started planning for this life transition, we were sure Sage wouldn’t be alive by the time we sold our house. But this big dog keeps on surprising us. It’s as if life on the road has given her an extra couple years. After we came back from Cancun, she’s been slowing down. Maybe we just hadn’t noticed the signs before we left because she’s always with us, and didn’t see the slow changes, but it’s become apparent now. She’s minimally eating and drinking, she rarely gets up - sleeping all day, but is restless at night, her eyes are glossy and weeping, her back legs shake and give out on her, and she is starting to have unfamiliar odors that a bath can’t fix. Jason and I have talked, even joked, a lot about how Sage is just never going to die, and we’re going to have to figure out how she can live on a boat, if we ever find one.
The reality of her dying seems to have come to our doorstep, and now I completely understand my grandma’s senseless neighbor all those years ago when she said her dog was cranky. Sage isn’t cranky (not anymore – she doesn’t have the energy for it), but I can feel her hurting. I get excited with her when she has some pep in her step, and I lay with her when she doesn't want to move. My heart can't take the loss of this man's best friend. I know decisions must be made in the near future, if we can’t find our Big Dog Sagey Girl some relief. And Sage isn’t the only big decision on the list for us either. We have a hook into a boat that calls for our attention as well.
I left off last week with us on Florida's Space Coast at the Titusville KOA. We moved last Wednesday and are now at the KOA in Moorehaven. This place has been really great for the boys.
There's a playground really close to our site where they met some new friends and have since been meeting up with daily to hang at the park or clubhouse. The clubhouse has puzzles (yay!!), board games, ping pong, pool, and free wifi. There's also a swimming pool that we've hit a couple times as the temperatures peaked at 84 degrees. Jason tried to extend our stay here, but they're full up, so we'll hit the road again tomorrow. Someone else will have to finish my puzzle, if I can't get it done today.
Last week also ended with me saying we had an agreement with our broker, Terry, to come on board and represent us through the process with a Lagoon 440 down in the French island of Martinique. We’re now a full week into this with Terry on our team, and it’s clear that no one is in a hurry about any of this. Terry sent our offer and contract to the boat owner on February 1st. The owner had 24 hours to respond to the deal. The next TWO DAYS came and went without a peep. Then on Feb. 4th, Terry texts saying he has verbal acceptance, but waiting on the signed contract. I’m an organized person that lives for lists, color-coding, and schedules.
The boat owners are already on my bad side by not sticking to a contractual schedule. When we finally received the signed contract on the 5th, I kind of wanted to tell them to stick it. They were FOUR DAYS LATE in responding to our offer. Deal’s off, I say. I guess I wanted some sort of repercussion for the lack of response – and the anxiety that came with it! Terry said it was completely normal for the initial acceptance of an offer to extend pass the due date because no one has an agreement, and no money is involved. He assured us that after the offer was accepted, the timeline should be accurate. False. It is NOT accurate. Although we’ve received the signed offer back, we still don’t have the information to transfer the deposit money, or a surveyor lined up, or a haul out scheduled, or a sea trial scheduled. It takes days between hearing from our broker on simple questions, and I’m already throwing my hands up. I simply don’t understand how everyone else involved in this deal, including the owner, is so horribly blasé about making a good chunk of money. We have signed up to pay an exorbitant amount of money for this sailing yacht, and no one is even batting an eye to get money in their pockets. It’s astounding. We are waiting for something to progress, and every minute that passes, our doubts and worries grow. Or at least mine do.
The boys are ready for life on the boat. They want more space and the bedrooms. They want the ocean to be their front yard. They want to play tag on a private island. They want to drive the boat and the dingy. They want to see the animals of other countries. They are ready to pull anchor and go.
Jason is ready for sailing life. He had this audacious dream over three years ago, and he’s giddy at the opportunity this boat offers us. Jason is planning our route if we start in Martinique and where we’d go for hurricane season. He’s plotting points where family and friends can finally come join us. He’s getting quotes on insurance. He’s planning our RV parks between now and closing on this boat. He’s scheduled an appointment for the RV to get serviced and checked out so it’s ready to sell. He’s found options where we can stay with our dog and cat while he’s in Martinique, if the time comes. He's committed and ready.
And I’m wavering. Is this really what we want to do? What I want to do? I already struggle being far away from my family, and now we’re going even farther. What if we hate it? What if we spend all this money, and we don’t like life on the water at all? Worse yet, what if something happens to one of us and we aren’t near shore to get help? Neither set of our parents are in top health, and my soul yearns to be close to them again. I miss having a home, having a garden. I’m not patient about learning new things, and the skill of sailing is VERY new. I hate feeling stupid. Yes, we took the courses, but that was over a year ago, and we haven’t touched a line on a boat since. I no longer know most of the terminology, procedures, or maneuvers of the boat we were schooled on – and the boat we’re looking at is 30% bigger than that one! My doubts are inhibiting my sleep. When everything is quiet, my mind races, thinking only of the adverse outcomes and damaging possibilities if we were to gain ownership of this boat, or any other boat. I guess this is normal. Putting so much on the line for a dream or a goal. It takes a confident amount of faith in things unseen, and I need to remember our reasons for this life when we started making the steps to achieving this very moment. We have worked hard and wanted this for over two years now, and my concerns, albeit very valid and things to be considered, won’t be enough to stop this train now.
Change is scary, but can also be really great. I need to dwell on the excitement, the adventure, the experiences, and pray over the worries, the hesitation, and the heartache. Anything worth doing, takes a certain amount of sacrifice. Jason has been my teammate, confidant, and rock for over 12 years - especially when I start to spiral. I will draw from his (and the boys’) enthusiasm and jump in with them. I trust Jason, and I trust in his confidence moving forward. Good days and bad, we walk through them loyally together - even if Jason may have to carry me through some of my valleys of apprehension. I am grateful for our life and being in a position like this to make such mind-blowing, life-altering, massive decisions.
So here’s to loving man’s best friend, to holding my tongue, and to living on the corner of Insanity Interchange and Anxiety Avenue.
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